


Crank It To 11

by missmishka



Series: Bond/Q/Toys [2]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Play, D/s elements, M/M, PWP, Toys, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmishka/pseuds/missmishka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond takes great care with some gadgets even if Q has no appreciation for the attention paid to such toys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ionaonie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ionaonie/gifts).



> For the delightful [Ionaonie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ionaonie/pseuds/Ionaonie) whose [The Bond Files](http://archiveofourown.org/series/29401) series, most notably [ Part 5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/570263) has given my 00Q muses the most fun of ideas. This came out of the comment I wrote her for said installment where I typed "Bond/Q/gadgets" and almost immediately wanted Bond/Q/toys. So...here they play.
> 
> This is written without a beta and likely contains many mistakes, so concrit reviews for corrections would be welcomed as well as any suggestions for beta assistance. I've several ideas for these two, perhaps even making a series out of this theme, and I'd love a beta because my Q muses are more explicit than anything else I've ever written.
> 
> Also, humor was reigning supreme as I wrote this and the title comes from the infamous crank it to 11 bit in Spinal Tap. The toy the boys are using is modeled after [THIS.](http://www.adameve.com/adult-sex-toys/vibrators/anal-vibrators/sp-remote-control-power-butt-plug-83034.aspx)

The Q Branch of the SIS is of the opinion that James Bond has no respect for gadgets.

The new Quartermaster perpetuates this slanderous rumor with his long-suffering sighs and barely stifled tsks of disappointment when 007 returns from assignment without the technology that he had been issued by Q. 

James has allowed this kind of talk; as he allows all the rumors about his prowess, but he can no longer abide by Q’s actually believing that James has no care for the items.

Bond has care and a great respect for the technology.  It’s pulled his pants out of the fire more times than he can count; Q, James knows, could provide an exact tally of those instances. 

Q, in fact, likes to throw out the number fairly often in his biting comments toward James after each new near escape, but Bond cannot recall if thirty-seven is the number of times that the MI6 records have him as barely getting through a mission successfully or if it’s the number of times he’s gotten out thanks to something or the other from Q Branch. 

There’s also some figure over 100 that Q likes to toss about, but James thinks that that one is pure exaggeration – unless it was in reference to the number of items that Bond has failed to return after missions.  In which case, even James would admit that the number seems fairly low given that they’d sometimes count everything from his cufflinks to his car as issued by Q Branch and he’d return from the mission half-naked, empty handed and on foot, so there’d be a good five to ten items lost in one go. 

Hardly seems fair; that kind of accounting, but they each have their tricks in these games that they play together.

A game that Bond is currently winning; if the sweat beading on Q’s forehead is any indication. 

James hides a smile by tapping his lips with the small black remote control in his hand as Q glares at him through the glass wall of his office.  Q’s lips are swollen to a cherry red from his biting at them and his fingers have fallen away from the keyboard of his computer to wrap tightly around the edge of his desk.  A shudder goes through the young man as Bond thumbs the button on the remote, flirting briefly with the idea of pushing it again before he tucks the item back into his tailored black pants. 

He watches Q’s nostrils flare and his chest heave as he struggles to regain a semblance of control.  James makes no effort to hide his smile this time as Q’s darkened eyes promise retribution.  James only has to tap the pocket that he’s deposited the remote to for the tone of Q’s intent stare to change.  Bond doesn’t even have to push the button this time to draw a visible shudder and lustfully glazed expression from the young Quartermaster.

The boy is learning; James is proud to see.

His shaggy dark hair gets another mussing as Q wipes the sweat from his brow then uses the dampened fingers to push the messy lot back from over his eyes.  Bond decides then and there that if the boy learns this particular lesson then James will reward him by tangling his hands in that mess and pulling on it later.

Something of his thoughts is likely communicated through the smirk on his lips because Q suddenly matches it with a smirk of his own; full of challenge and promise that has James rather wisely turning on his heel and walking away to return to the pit where he supposedly has a desk of his own for reports and whatnot.

He pats himself on the back for disproving, in his own mind, another of Q’s misconceptions about him.  007 does in fact know when to walk away from trouble, but only so that he can return to it at a more opportune time. 

He boots up his desktop and considers the keyboard before settling on using his own credentials to sign into the system.  Once everything has loaded he directs his attention to the clock in the bottom right corner of the display and taps his fingers thoughtfully against the desktop. 

At half past two, he estimates another three hours before he’ll manage to convince Q to lock up shop for the day.  To date, none of his attempts to lure the Quartermaster from his assignments have proven successful before the six o’clock hour. 

Today, though, could prove a new record given how James has been pushing things since lunch.

With no pending missions of interest and nothing that he really cared to risk getting caught up in at the moment, James brings up the games menu and opts for a classic game of solitaire to pass the time.

The message box that appears is of no surprise despite the fact that he hasn’t signed into any of the internal communication services. 

_This is what you’re doing with your time?_

He smiles with a glance in the direction of Q’s office and, regretfully, gauges the distance to be beyond the remote’s reach before he types in a reply.

**_So it would appear._ **

_Solitaire?  Really?_

**_I could always come back to your office and play some more –_ **

_Company computers, 00, do try to remember how such things are monitored._

**_By you, isn’t it?_ **

There’s no reply for a few minutes during which James begins dragging hearts and diamonds to fall into line with clubs and spades.

_Will this keep you out of mischief, at least?_

**_When have I ever gotten into mischief, Q?_ **

_I appear to have lost track of that particular statistic, Mr. Bond.  If you require a number, though, I can recount at least twenty instances just today._

**_Idle hands and all that.  I do try to stay busy._ **

_Perhaps too busy.  Try taking a nap, sleep is always a good way to pass the time._

**_Is that an invitation?  Because I do not intend to seek bed alone today._ **

_I may actually hate you._

**_Try not to rush to any conclusions.  We’ve only just begun._ **

No response comes and after five minutes, he marks it as another win in his favor that no more messages appear to be coming. 

An hour passes with him idly playing the card game and talking with the young field recruits that always flock to him at headquarters seeking stories about the infamous 007 straight from the source. 

He’s in the middle of just such a conversation when he spots Q passing by on his way to the loo.  With years of practice, James is able to continue the conversation even as his focus latches immediately on to the man moving briskly toward his destination. 

Q does not so much as glance in his direction, causing James’s lips to pucker on a quickly erased frown.  Such avoidance simply would not do.

Rather than excuse himself from his conversation to slip off to the bathroom as well, James opts for a different tack.  The distance from his desk to the wall along which Q would be walking to get back to his office is well within the device’s range. 

Bond slips his hand in his pocket while continuing his chat about his last Venetian assignment.  The remote control it hard plastic in his hand; such a small, impersonal item for the way it is used.  His thumb turns the dial by feel, mentally running through the setting that he currently had it on and taking it from pulse to vibrate then increasing the intensity another notch.  He’s not yet pushed it to the highest setting; that will come later if Q is to be so lucky.

The moment he sees Q appear on his trip back to his offices, James pushes his thumb hard against the power button to send the command through from the remote. 

With a yelp, skip and stagger; Q all but falls against the wall the moment the vibrations from the plug spread through his body.   Q turns into the wall, pressing his forehead into it and flattening his palms against the old brick.  His legs have just the slightest part to them and his delectable ass is thrust outward in a pose that makes James shift to ease the constriction of material over his expanding cock. 

Giving up any appearance of caring to speak with the eager young agent hovering at his desk; Bond leans forward in his seat and keeps the pressure on until Q’s fingernails begin to dig into the mortar and his body all but writhes against the wall.  James envies the plug pushing and shuddering in Q’s ass; wants to replace the little black toy with his own cock until Q screams for it.  He’d do it right against that very wall if they could get away with it, but even he knows not to push that particular bit of trouble.

He reluctantly takes his finger away from the button to stop the vibrating as he notices more eyes than his own have turned to watch the Quartermaster with varying degrees of interest.

Moneypenny arrives on scene and walks herself over to Q with obvious concern.  James watches as the boy burns fiery red, mumbles something then turns to race back to the bathroom with a deadly glare in Bond’s direction as he resettles the glasses knocked askew on his face during his grind with the wall.  Eve turns toward Bond with a speculative stare to which he simply shrugs, all innocence, before turning back to his computer. 

The cards hold no interest to him, however, and after only a moment of staring at the monitor he grabs a little something from a desk drawer then pushes to his feet to move quickly toward the lavatory. 

Q is not at the sinks or urinals and a frown of displeasure puckers James’s brow.

“I do hope you’re not cheating in there,” he declares as he looks about for some way to jam the door shut for their privacy.

A thud and curse reveal Q to have chosen the far stall for whatever he has intended.

“You want to talk about cheating after that stunt you’ve just pulled?” Q’s voice is just a bit shrill as it snaps out after a moment.

James smiles as the thuds continue to indicate that he’s managed to startle the other man from whatever he’d been doing.  Before going to investigate exactly what it _is_ that he’s interrupting, Bond borrows the metal pumps from the soap dispensers to wedge into the hinges and under the door to stop it from being pushed inward.

“I take it that you’ve disabled the cameras in here,” he moves to lean against the partition between the stalls while nimbly unfastening his blazer.

Q pulls open the stall door to glare at Bond in exasperation as he tries to tuck himself back in his unzipped pants.  His oh-so-proper Quartermaster is an utter mess; cardigan and clothing in disarray, cock thrusting hard and angry from his gaping pants.  His pupils are still dilated and he’s tense with unfulfilled desire and there’s a tremor to the fingers trying to rearrange that erection so his pants can be refastened.

James stops him from that with a hand to the center of his chest.

“How much time do we have?”

“I’ve a meeting in fifteen minutes, you sod, and I’m in no condition to stand before my team briefing them on upcoming projects with _this_ in my pants!”

“I should hope that _that_ is always in your pants, my dear,” James smirks and pushes in to press Q against the stall wall while he slides his hand down to wrap around _it_.

“Har-dee-har-haah,” Q begins in sarcasm and ends in a gasping moan as Bond’s fingers curl tight and pull.

“Is this what you were doing?” he asks, nuzzling in as Q’s head tips back against the stall to expose his slender neck.  “Trying to have a quick one off without my permission.”

“I-” is all that he can manage to stammer as James slicks his thumb over the slit of his penis to collect the precum gathered there.

James lifts his hand away to slip the thumb into his own mouth to suckle until Q’s eyes begin to cross in their focus on the pucker of James’s lips around the digit.  He leans forward again, putting his chest against Q’s as he transfers his wet thumb to his lover’s mouth. 

“I know I’m pushing you,” he murmurs, licking at the arch of Q’s neck as it flexes from the way the young man immediately begins to suck on the finger in his mouth; “but you’re doing so well.  You can call it a day at any time and we’ll be out of here to finish this off proper.”

His thumb pulls free of Q’s clinging lips with a pop and he moves to fill the void with his tongue before the young man can miss having anything in his mouth.

“Just say the word,” James husks against Q’s jaw as he runs his hand back down that lean torso to curl once more into those undone trousers.

“Meeting, Mr. Bond,” the man reminds in a failed attempt at his usual crispness.  “Fifteen minutes.”

“And after?”

James shifts his hand from Q’s cock to slip around and locate the loop of cord between the man’s slim cheeks.  His finger crooks to hook into the loop and tug until he feels the resistance of the enlarged base of the butt plug catching on the inside of the tight ring of Q’s sphincter. 

The man’s hands latch on to James’s shoulders, fingers digging in tight as he squirms in the restriction of his pants; trying to spread his legs to give better access.  Bond resists the urge to bite at the Adam’s apple bobbing in Q’s throat as the man gurgles what may have been a response to James’s question. 

Knowing that time could all too easily get away from them at this rate, James eases his mouth away after taking one last swipe at the underside of his lover’s jaw.  Another time and place, he would have kissed the hell out of those panting red lips, but there would be no mere fifteen minutes about it for them if he continues on this way.  He soothes Q’s whimpers at his retreat with soft shushing sounds and a calming stroke of his hand over the smooth skin of the young man’s arse.  

“Got a meeting to prepare for,” he reminds while leading the other man to the sinks.  “Have to get you back to prim and proper now, don’t I?”

“You are a truly loathsome individual, 007,” Q declares as he leans heavily against James’s shoulder to bite at his earlobe.

“Inevitably,” he drawls in response as he urges the man to bend over a sink while he slides Q’s pants and boxers down to his knees.

Q’s hands grip the porcelain edge and he leans over like a pro and parts his legs as best he can.  He’s pretty as a picture with that ass thrust outward with the black T-base of the plug showing so starkly between his pale butt cheeks.  James runs his fingers down the crack between those cheeks until he brushes over the protrusion.

“I need you to stay still and steady for me,” he murmurs, running his free hand up and down the clothing covering the man’s back. 

Q nods his agreement even as his body shakes from the jostling of the probe against his prostate.  A broken noise escapes him before he bites down on his lush lower lip when James grips the base to begin gently pulling the plug out. 

Bond looks up briefly as Q’s foreheads thuds against the mirror to see the reflection of his own body pressed against Q’s with his lover so disheveled and the purpling head of his cock thrusting out from under his shirt tails.  He allows himself a moment’s pause to relish the sight and whisper a quick word of praise into the young man’s ear before he returns his focus to the even more enticing display of that ass opening up to release the plug that he’s had in him since dawn. 

Once the toy is out, James drops it into the sink then stoops down to look closely for any damage as his fingers skim over the swollen entrance.  The touch is clinical, not sensual, but the Quartermaster shivers and humps backward regardless of Bond’s intent and earlier instruction.

“Stay there and breathe easy,” he orders as he stands and retrieves the device from the sink that Q is clinging to.  “Focus on regaining control of that erection.”

“Perhaps I might could actually do such a thing if you weren’t bloody _you_.”

James is flattered and allows himself to drop a brief kiss on each of Q’s ass cheeks as reward for what is undoubtedly intended to insult.  He can understand the frustration riding the boy so he doesn’t get drawn into one of their sniping sessions as he collects the butt plug then moves to a neighboring sink to begin running cold water over the toy to rinse it clean.  He’d left one soap dispenser intact and he goes to it to collect a handful of cleanser to thoroughly scrub the tapered end.

“So you really are capable of taking care of your toys,” Q muses wryly and James slants a look to find the young man watching him with a mix of fond lust that has proven quite addicting. 

“As I’ve said,” James returns his attention to cleaning the toy under the flow of water until his hands feel icy from the cold temperature. 

The rubber is not at all ideal for this; his glass probes are best suited to absorb the hot or cold of water, but this would have to do in a pinch.  He moves to the towel dispenser and pulls out several sheets to dry his hands and the anal plug then throws the used sheets away before pulling out several more. 

“Keep the cold water running over this,” he instructs, passing the toy into Q’s hand.

He dampens a sheet in tepid water before turning the tap off.  He wrings the excess moisture out then moves behind Q to gently wipe away the lube that had been applied earlier to work the plug into that incredibly tight arse. 

This time Q seems to understand that the task it to tend to, not ignite him and he relaxes with a sigh under the ministrations.  James takes a clean towel to dab away the dampness once he’s wiped as best as he can in the situation.  He reaches into his pocket to retrieve the handy sample sized bottle of lube that he’d grabbed from the stash in his desk. 

Without allowing himself to enjoy it as thoroughly as he liked to, James slicks his fingers and runs them around Q’s arsehole.  The opening is soft and looser than usual, but it still resists the intrusion of James’s finger dipping into the hole to spread the lubrication.  He repeats the process in three quick successions to get his lover ready for the toy to slide back in, rubbing a calming circle in the small of Q’s back as he works.  When he finishes with the preparation, he puts his hand out for the plug.

There’s a pause before the young man turns off the faucet and transfers the probe back to James.  Water drips from the black rubber, but James still squirts a dollop of lube on the tip and spreads it over the tapered length. 

The motion of his hand is quick and perfunctory so it’s no wonder that both men shiver as they watch the process.  Precision, efficiency and getting results are all virtually pornographic to them both and seemingly mundane tasks like this are unbearably erotic when performed so meticulously.

Q whimpers and James resists the urge to stroke himself through the constriction of his trousers as he cuts the show short and plunges the toy back into Q’s ass without warning. 

“Bastard,” the young man jerks and curses. 

The lube is an additional coolant on the device, likely more effective than the cold water in the deflating effect that the insertion has on Q’s erection. 

A creative tirade of profanity spills from his lips as he squirms at the intrusion and waits for it to warm up while he gets used to the feel of it again.  James is proud, as always, to listen to his boy breaking apart and losing all decorum in his speech; whether he’s begging James on in bed or cursing him out like this it’s a treat to see such composure shattered. 

Quite pleased with himself, James wipes his hand of the traces of lube then wipes the bottle before re-pocketing it and tossing the trash that he’s accumulated.  He gives that lovely white ass a little smack then turns Q around to face him as he begins to pulls the man’s pants back up.

“You’re actually a villain, aren’t you?  You can tell me, it’s already in your jacket,” Q babbles as Bond gets the man’s still half-hard cock tucked away with the ends of his button-up before he fastens the trousers.  “You’ve had several psych evaluations predict a move for world domination.  Admit that you are evil.”

“I’ve no desire to dominate the world,” he removes Q’s steamed-up glasses and gives them a quick buff with the young man’s own cardigan.  “You’re more than enough for me,” he resettles the dark frames on Q’s face with a smirk.

“Oh, do shut up,” the Quartermaster huffs before swatting James aside and heading for the door with his eyes going to his watch.  “Bloody hell.”

“You’ve got five minutes,” James assures him as Q pulls at the door handle and glares when the barrier does not budge.

“Are you even wearing a watch?” Q asks in a biting tone that says all too clearly that he was, quite in fact, _late_.

“Genuine Q Branch issue,” Bond assures him, knocking back the cuff of his blazer to reveal the watch on his wrist. 

He checks the time and sees that it is exactly 4:08pm.

Still.

_Oh._

“These are waterproof, aren’t they?” he frowns in consternation at the unmoving hands on the watch face while giving it a tap like that’d get them working again.

“Usually,” Q squeezes the bridge of his nose before turning to remove the item from James’s wrist.  “This is a desert combat edition, though, equipped for environments sparse in water and therefore not bothered to have been waterproofed, Mr. Bond.”

“But I haven’t been to the desert-”

“Since the Sudan,” Q interrupts with chiding.  “This is what happens when you do not properly check in with Q Branch after each assignment to have your devices logged back in so that you can be properly outfitted as your most current circumstance dictates.”

James resists an urge to sigh at this evidence of the stick eternally jammed up Q’s arse, apparently unmoved by the anal plug currently sharing the space.

“You’ve not been complaining with the way I _check in_ with _Q_ after my assignments,” James tries not to let his pout become obvious.

When he fails to keep his lower lip from slipping outward and his words only get an expression of irritation from Q; James retaliates by slipping his hand in his pocket and pushing the button again.  Even having seen it coming with James putting his hand in that particular pocket, his lover still jolts and arches as if hit by a live current. 

Once this bloody day ends, James will get to see that same anguished response to the intense rush of pleasure without any clothes hiding the quiver of Q’s naked flesh.  He’ll see that taut bowing of torso, the lean lines of the young man’s writhing body and that flush of red that overtakes so much of his lover’s pale skin at such times. The thought of it has James half tempted to slip into a stall to jerk off while Q goes to his damned meeting.

Instead, he releases the button, imaging himself successful in making the young man forget about that metaphorical stick to focus on the very real vibrator in his ass.  Bond pulls the wedges out of the door as Q collapses back against the wall with eyes like daggers watching James’s every move.  His hands tug futilely at the hem of his checkered cardigan to pull it down for some coverage for the bulge once again evident in his trousers.

“I know,” James allows the long-suffering sigh this time to cover the smile he feels as he pulls the door open and waves the young man though.  “I’m a menace.  A tormenter and cad; evil, twisted and depraved.  Someday, you are going to kill me and you utterly, completely,” he hurries the boy along with another tap to that ass because clearly, Q is late for his staff briefing; “ _hate_ how very much that you love me.”

“Today, Mr. Bond,” Q states in a very low, tense voice as they’re suddenly the center of everyone’s attention, “is looking quite good for _that_ day.”

James wisely bites his tongue and watches the young man dash off, just the slightest hitch in his gait as the plug shifts with his every move; his eyes going back to his properly functioning watch as he tries to rush.  A glance at the nearest wall clock shows that Q is a good fifteen minutes late for his 4:30 meeting, so Bond decides that as he’s in for a penny he may as well go for the pound.  Before the young man gets too far away, James pulls the remote out, cranks it to the highest of the ten settings that it is purported to have then he hits the button. 

Q will later claim that it was piss poor timing and that James is lucky that Q had not broken his neck when he plowed headfirst into a pillar as his knees were taken out by the sudden earthquake in his arse – Q’s words, not Bond’s.    

James, though, knows that it was an example of his impeccable timing because the impact knocked Q on his ass and left him dazed enough to be ordered immediately home by the new M. 

To the untrained eye, James Bond is a menace to gadgets, toys and technology but the reality is that while he rarely uses such things as they’re intended, he takes very good _care_ of _all_ of his gadgets, toys and technology.

Q still doesn’t get how this exercise has been a lesson on that point and James is more than happy to repeat the experiment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine this part will need/be rewritten a bit as I'm not overly pleased with the whole flow of it. Suggestions and comments for improvement are encouraged and welcomed to help me find my Q voice.

James is gloating as he opens the passenger side door of the Lexus.

Q is fuming as he slides into the car and settles into the passenger seat.

He’d known going into this that it was a terrible idea.  He had known and James had agreed that they’d never be able to keep work and home separate, but damned if either of them had cared after their first time together had proven insufficient for them both. 

He had done a damnably good job of making James behave at the office, though.  Aside from the glances and verbal foreplay, of course.  That and maybe a few stolen kisses.  Perhaps they did also get a bit handsy at times, but they often had valid reasons to touch when discussing the technology and weaponry 007 is being given for assignment.  No real excuse for the time that he’d unbuttoned a few buttons on Bond’s shirt for that he could slip his fingers beneath cloth and stroke James’s actual flesh, though. 

Ok, admittedly, they’d not hidden a damned thing from anyone and the whole bloody lot of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service knew damned well that Q had fallen like a domino for Bond’s indefinable charm. 

Today, though, Bond may as well have taken out an advert in the papers with his shenanigans and Q does not know how he will ever face his peers again. His youth has made it hard enough to earn respect in his position of Quartermaster to the elite 00s of the MI6 and now he’s likely lost that for joining the deplorably long list of James Bond’s lovers.

Q doesn’t so much mind the plug that has buzzed and flexed at odd moments during his day; though at times the stimulation had been maddening when he could not come or even make a move to adjust himself and draw attention to the erection tenting his trousers.  He rather likes all of that, really, the challenge between them to see how far James would push and how much Q could take.  The brief interlude in the lavatory is also acceptable, though completely inappropriate and ill advised.  The cameras had been off, James had barred the door somehow and they hadn’t actually had sex, so in Q’s mind they hadn’t taken that _too_ far.

The problem is how the damned fool had swooped in like a White Knight and **_literally_** scooped Q up like some delicate damsel after Q had hit his head; an injury **_caused_** by Bond.

Everyone had known that James was somehow behind the way Q had stumbled into that pillar.  Their suspicions had likely been confirmed by the Agent’s quick offer to see him home after Mallory instructed Q to take the rest of the day off.  If any one of them actually managed to figure out _how_ Bond had pulled that stunt off, Q swears he’ll blow the whole lot up and go back to hacking international security databases from the isolation of his flat.

It is one thing to enjoy a sex toy stuffed inside you while performing the mundane tasks of your daily work life.  It is quite another for anyone other than you and your lover to _know_ that you have such a device nestled inside you as you sit or walk or bend or squat to pick up that pen that’s fallen again to the floor and that you _like_ it there pushing inside as you move.  And God forbid they discover the plug is remote controlled and that your partner is amusing his day away by randomly changing the settings and pushing the buttons to make your eyes cross with a feeling so damned good your every muscle constricts with indecision as to whether the feeling should be fought or embraced.

James finally rounds the car and gets behind the wheel as Q continues to nurse his bruised ego while cradling his aching head in a vain attempt to make Bond feel guilty.

“Headache?”

The twat ignores Q’s glower as he tenderly pushes away the brown waves of hair over Q’s forehead to have a look at the skin scraped from his first collision with immovable brick.  Unfortunately, the touch is sickeningly sweet and the evil man continues the gesture by threading his thick fingers in Q’s hair whilst massaging at his scalp until his eyes flutter shut in pleasure.  The fingers exert a slight pressure that Q is boneless to resist and he feels Bond’s lips press lightly to the injury that will do little more than bruise.

“I’ve a cure for that,” James’s lips drift downward to husk the words into Q’s ear and, just like that, all’s forgiven.

The man is just impossible to stay mad at when he’s like this. And damned if 007 isn’t _always_ like this.

Q’s eyes slowly open as Bond pulls his mouth away but his hand remains in Q’s hair; thumb almost absentmindedly stroking over the scratch on his forehead.  He finds James staring rather intently at the small injury; hints of worry and regret in that arctic gaze.

“It’s nothing,” Q swats the hand away rather than turn into it like a sap.  “Perhaps we could go now before we give them any more entertainment for the day.”

He shifts uncomfortably in the seat, trying to disappear into the seat as he spots an intern slipping outside to have a smoke. 

“Of course,” James agrees beside him, shifting in the driver’s seat.  “We can’t have them all seeing you like this.”

 _This_ is head thrown back, spine bowing, fingers clawing for an anchoring grip on the dash, eyes clenching shut and mouth dropping open on a soundless scream as Bond hits the remote again.  The bump on his head is completely forgotten as the vibrations spread through his whole being and the hard rubber tip of the plug pulses against his prostrate in a maddening caress that feels like its somehow stroking his cock from the inside out. 

His heels dig into the floor mat as he alternately lifts his arse up away from the seat in hope of easing the pressure then grinding down as much as he can into the seat to try forcing the plug deeper. 

Within seconds, he’s gasping; a solid minute into the delicious torture and he’s begging.  In his mind, he wants more; bigger and deeper as only James’s cock can stretch him and, as he thrashes, his lips spill that desire in broken, explicit terms. 

It takes him a minute to realize when the vibrations stop and his body continues to hump against the hard lump of the plug in his ass.  James’s hand is back on him, curling around the side of his neck and stroking as the man shushes Q’s babbling.

When Q settles back into himself, he is genuinely amazed to find that his cock is still hard and his pants dry; his briefs not so much, given the amount of precum his cock has leaked through the day when Bond pushed that damned button.

“Bastard,” the word lacks bite as it shudders out with his breath.

“You still haven’t said it.”

For a moment, he can’t remember what the hell _it_ is, then he vaguely recalls some of James’s words from that morning as the man drew out the process of inserting the plug into Q’s ass.

“Take me home, James.”

Of all the things that Bond has wanted and gotten Q to say, that seems terribly mundane and mild.  Looking into James’s eyes, though, made it anything but mild as he says it and seeing the way those pupils dilate; eyes darkening as satisfaction and something more overtook his expression.  Bond’s hand skims up his throat for his thumb to brush over Q’s lower lip before he pulls away.

The ignition starts and car leaps into motion before Q even thinks of buckling up. 

 _Home_ has been the same dreary flat for Q since his last year at university.  It’s been his alone for nearly a month now since his position at the SIS allowed him to afford it without being forced to take in strangers to help with the rental.  It has just, apparently, become Bond’s primary base. 

007 hadn’t taken to the new residence that was arranged for him and between missions he’d developed the most unlikely of habits of showing up at Q’s place.  They’d only once been together to the opulent apartment that the agency had felt fitting for a person of Bond’s status; that first time.  Since then; since they’d silently agreed to make this thing a _thing_ Q’s dusty old basement flat was where they spent any time together outside the office. 

James’s boxed up possessions had somehow begun to intermingle with odd and ends that Q had packed away for some reason or another.  Q had a habit of collecting things in boxes with the intent to move, store or donate the contents but ultimately he’d just leaving it forgotten in some corner of the apartment. 

Bond’s tailored Tom Ford suits and dress shirts had begun to appear in the closet; a runner from the dry cleaner’s became a regular on Q’s doorstep to collect and return those suits until Q began to realize that was how Bond smuggled the things in.  Q’s collection of tweeds and poly blends purchased off the rack by non-descript designers looked all the more pitiful hanging amid the spy’s style. 

The colognes, toothbrush and basic toiletries were to be expected with all of Bond’s overnight stays.  Q had begun to suspect something more to it all when he noticed James’s books added to the bookcases around the flat; the man’s movies in with Q’s DVDs.  The sudden presence of guns and weapons all over the place that had nothing to do with Q’s tinkering with inventions for work was another tip.  New foods and spices appeared in the kitchen along with appliances that Q had never felt that he needed – a _rotisserie_?  _Really?_  

One might think it was the intimacy of the straight-edged razor now given a place of prominence at the bathroom sink with the sharpening strap hooked to side of the counter that clued him in on the seriousness of the situation, but it wasn’t that as Q just lumped it in with the other toiletries.

James somehow managed all of this without Q ever giving the man a key and without Q ever having told or shown the agent where he lived. 

It was the startling discovery of a familiar Union Jack designed Royal Doulton bulldog sitting atop his dresser that tipped Q off to the fact that he now lived with James Bond.  _That_ is when Q finally gave James a key to the flat to replace whatever method the man had been using for entry when Q didn’t open the door for him. 

Bond’s toys and Q’s gadgets can be found all over the flat now; leading to the situation that Q is in.  Apparently, he had said one too many things about Bond’s handling of those gadgets and cast one too many longing stares at those toys and James thought that making him walking around with a remote controlled vibrating, pulsating anal plug inside him is just the thing that Q needs.

Given the rollercoaster ride that he feels he’s been on with the toy in place, Q agrees that he might have needed it, but hasn’t a clue what it has to do with how Bond treats _his_ creations for the spy game.  He suspects he’ll learn that point, or not, depending on how James chooses to continue this inside the flat.

Lost in his thoughts, the ride has passed quickly for Q and a shiver a anticipation goes through him as James pulls into the carpark near the flat where 007 keeps the car.  The shiver turns to a fully body quake as Bond turns the vibrator on with a barely seen touch as he pulls the Lexus into its space and puts it into park. 

James, the narcissist, does not like when Q drifts into his own head when Bond feels that his presence merits the entirety of the world stopping to give notice to the spy. 

Q would mutter aloud some comment along the lines of wondering why he put up with 007’s nonsense, but the man is demonstrating an answer to that with the way he twists in his seat to slide his hand over the bulge in Q’s pants and Q can only moan.  Bond’s broad fingers stroke over the straining line of Q’s zipper following the seam down between the thighs that Q eagerly parts so those fingers can curl in to find and press against the hard nub of the plug’s base through the seat of Q’s pants.  James holds it in place; pushes in on it even though it cannot go any deeper.   He keeps his other hand on the remote to play with the dial and torment Q with a quick run through the varied settings.

Q wants to come so badly that he’s ready to offer taking James back home to meet his family if that’ll get his cock out of his pants and into a hand or mouth or at least a surface to grind against until he can climax before he implodes.  Not ready to think of the prospect of sitting down at the same dinner table as his factory-working father and James fucking Bond, Q grabs at 007’s neck to pull the man’s mouth in for a kiss guaranteed to silence them both for a moment or two.  Quite possibly ten; if the dizzying rush he feels is any indication when he finally breaks away to breathe again.

The vibrations stop as James returns the remote to his pocket, pulls his other hand from between Q’s legs and lifts his fingers to drift once more over the scratch on his forehead – _honestly, just a damned scratch that had only bled long enough to soak through half a handkerchief, he’s had more damage from papercuts._

“Can you walk?”

An exasperated growl escapes him at that question as he again smacks the tender touch aside.

“I do hate to disappoint your want for theatrics today, but I am not concussed and I am more than capable of crossing the street to my flat.”

“Seems like it might be a little _hard,”_ the smug bastard gooses him with a smirk, “to walk that far at the moment.”

That’s the brilliance of Bond, not that Q would ever confess to there even being such a thing as brilliance in the man.  Diversion, distraction and misdirection to have you going, looking, thinking and acting one way while the man was waiting to get you from a completely unexpected angle.

 _Bastard_.

“Smarmy bastard,” he feels that the thought needed embellished and spoken.

“There’s gratitude for you,” James tsks.  “Here I was going to suck you off proper for what a good sport you’ve been throughout and I get more of your insults.  No respect, I swear.”

James’s pout is overdone and completely fake as he moves to exit the car.

“I’ll see you inside, then.”

He makes a show of adjusting his own erection in the light grey of his trousers before he fastens the buttons of his blazer to let the fit of the jacket conceal the bulge from the casual glances.  Only then, having made sure Q watched the whole process, does he close the door and tap a farewell on the roof before turning to leave the garage. 

Q’s gobsmacked expression is very real and fails to truly capture how very cruel and unfair that was.

After several calming breaths he opens the door and slowly climbs out of the luxury sedan.  He’s grateful it isn’t one of Bond’s low-slung sports cars as Q can only imagine how his gangly limbs would have looked getting out of one of those in his current condition. 

The boner is awkward, but no male makes it through puberty without learning how to walk without doubling over or hobbling with an erection.  His problem is the buzz that still seems to be coursing through him, leaving his bones feel absent, his muscles feel limp and his entire body feel uncooperative. 

James had been careful to observe the instructions of limited bursts of power through the day rather than prolonged vibrations that could damage nerves, but the whole experience is still heady enough to leave Q wishing he had Bond’s broad shoulders to cling to.

Of course, Bond being Bond, knows all of this and is waiting just outside on the sidewalk when Q staggers out to the street.  He straightens from his casual lean against the building, but keeps his hands tucked into his pockets as he arches one blonde eyebrow in amusement and thrusts out his left elbow.  Not saying one damned thing, Q slides his right hand through the opening to cling to the crook of the man’s arm and lean heavily against his side as they check the traffic before beginning to cross the street. 

He refuses to feel like a girl as James shifts their arms so that Q’s is curl around one another’s waists.  He just leans in tighter and stifles the urge to sigh as James drops his hand to rub over Q’s flank as they begin down the concrete steps to the flat.

“If I apologize,” he asks with the most soulfully pathetic stare he can manage through the fringe of his bangs, “will you still suck me?”

He drops back into a seductive lean against the door while James pulls the housekey out of his pocket.  He licks his lips and is on the verge of drawing up his foot to prop on the wall behind him to complete the rentboy pose, when James’s eyelids droop to cover his heated gaze for a moment.  The blue irises are electric and send a jolt through Q that no vibrator can match as Bond opens his eyes again before leaning in to press himself against Q.

He braces the flat of one palm against the door while using his other hand to nimbly unbutton the waist of Q’s pants then slowly work the zipper down over the straining length of cock beneath the clothing.  His forehead presses to Q without any care given or needed for the stupid scratch and he won’t kiss Q no matter how much he whimpers and licks his lips in want to feel his lover’s stubble rasping over his jaw as that mouth takes his.  James just stares into Q’s eyes, all sex and want and intent and Q couldn’t break away from that snare even if he wanted to. 

Hot skin wraps around Q’s dick; slightly rough around the fingertips from all the weapons he’s worked with in his career and his eyes nearly flutter shut at the rush of relief to feel such an intimate touch again on his painful erection.  He arches shamelessly into it, gasping for breath and pulling in the steady exhalation of air from James as the man keeps his expression set as he begins to fist Q’s cock, but a muscle ticks along his tightly clenched jaw and his nostrils flare with the control he exerts to keep his breaths even in depth and pace. 

Bond could be a bloody machine when he was in this much control and so determined to remove any illusions of power from Q’s mind.

Q no longer needs the wet suction of James’s soft lips so long as the man doesn’t stop moving his hand and _staring_ like he is.  A few more strokes of those fingers curling tight then tighter as they pull harder and faster and Q’s going to come all over himself right there in the broad daylight outside his flat with only his cock bared for this debauchery. 

The reasonable part of him points out how they could move just a few feet to inside the apartment to strip naked and fuck one another to exhaustion or death, whichever comes first, but he seldom listens to that prat when he’s in the presence of James Bond – another effect the spy seems to have on people.

“Want you naked,” Bond grits out and Q wonders if the man has somehow absorbed the thought through the tight press of their forehead.  “I am going to make you come so hard,” his pupils dilate in sync with the flare of his nostrils as he seems to smell how much this is all turns Q on.  “Make you come so often you’ll forget that damned name you still won’t tell me.”

It’s already forgotten along with the name of the nice old lady with the shih tzu who has the ground level apartment in the four story complex.  The old biddy who apparently walks said dog at this particular time of day and hasn’t the decency to see their embrace and toddle off in a scandalized huff, but rather stands on the sidewalk outside the door to her own flat, looking down on them and blowing what is appears to be a rape whistle until they break apart to hear here blustering threats about a bucket of cold water and shaking her head sadly about society back in her youth and the ways of the boys these days.

Q would have, honest to God, flipped her off to go with the glare he directs at her interruption, but his hands are immediately occupied by clinging to James’s shoulders as the man springs into motion to unlock the door and get the both inside the privacy of their flat.  James, Q is gratified to see, doesn’t hesitate to give the old bird a traditional pluck you salute before he slams the door shut to put Q back against it.

Q won’t stay there, though, given the freedom of his own home to let loose.  He pushes James back to get at the man’s buttons; of which there are far too many.  Unfortunately, his lover buy quality, high-end designer clothes so Q hasn’t a hope of pulling off some bodice ripping maneuver to cut through the hassle and just tear the buttons off with a yank of his fists. 

He tries. 

The buttons prevail.

James, the bastard, senses Q’s growing desperation.  He quickly loosens his tie to slip it up over his head then he grasps a side of the shirtfront in each of his meaty hands and gives a quick yank.

The buttons leap right off and the shirt whips open to reveal the white t-shirt Bond is wearing beneath his light colored suit.  Q crosses his arms over his chest and gives the man a pointed stare drips with equal parts dare and expectation.  James’s hands go to the V-neck of the undershirt and Q perks up even more thinking Bond may actually tear through that one, too, but the cheeky bastard just stretches out the neck and pulls the garment off over his head.

“Cheating,” Q chides as he unzips his cardigan and goes to work removing his own shirt and tie.

As Q should have anticipated, Bond pulls the remote out of his pocket and hits the button while Q’s still working on the tie and there’s a bit of choking that occurs that is not at all sexy.  Once he recovers, he takes the control from James and tosses it blindly across the room to skitter across the floor.

“I think we’ve had about enough of that,” he all but snarls as he moves in to attack James’s pants in case there happens to be another remote in there.

With Bond, it is damned well possible to the point of being most likely fact.

“Mr. Q,” James gasps in feigned shock, “how could you be so careless with that gadget?  Have you any idea how much it cost?  It’s likely gone and fallen down a vent to be lost forever if your little tantrum didn’t break it first.”

“I,” Q pulls back to glare with a faint twinge of regret stirring as he realizes he did through it as hard as he could; “I do not sound like that.”

“No,” Bond agrees as he toes off his shoes to kick free of the pants now dropped around his ankles, “your voice is rather more shrill when you’re chastising me about the proper handling of your gadgets.”

The noise that escapes him is embarrassingly shrill as James bends to throw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift to carry Q to the king sized bed that Bond had brought in weeks ago to replace the perfectly functional double that Q had had.

Q forgives the caveman tactic as he wouldn’t very well be with Bond if those Neanderthal tendencies weren’t so damned erotic.  He then immediately forgives the mockery and needlessly drawn out foreplay and maybe even some of the tech that Bond has lost on assignment as James tosses him on his back on the mattress then comes down atop him to take Q’s cock into that damned mouth. 

James doesn’t need to touch him in any other way; he just sucks Q to the back of his throat and swallows before pushing on until the entire length of Q’s slender cock is buried in Bond’s throat.  Q comes so hard, with so much pent up want, that he’s soundless with it; deaf, dumb and blind to everything outside of the overwhelming _feel_ of his balls drawing up tight as his body spasms and spills down James’s throat.

Twelve hours in the making, the climax leaves him breathless and broken in a limp, sweating sprawl that he will never ever move from.

Until James moves him; rolling his slack form over to sprawl face down while Bond tugs away the pants and underwear Q still had had hanging about his hips.  He manages a few noises to protest the movement as his lover carefully removes the glasses from his face to set them safely aside, but anything resembling an actual word is likely hours away from him. 

James shushes him anyway, a hand pushing aside the tendrils of damp hair clinging to Q’s nape so that James can bend to lick at the sweat while he murmurs praise for Q’s having last so long.  His hands rub down Q’s spine from his nape the swell of his arse then reverse to glide back up, fingers spreading wide as the heels of his palms pushes in to begin a light massage.  Q sighs and could very easily fall asleep at that very moment, but on the next downward stroke Bond runs his hands up over Q’s ass to allow his fingers to graze the plug still buried between his cheeks.

“We need to get this out of you, love,” Bond presses a kiss to the sensitive skin below Q’s ear.  “Can you help me with that?”

Q flops out a hand to serve as agreement. 

In his head, he’s sighing at James’s gentle tone and circling that hand in a universal gesture for the man to get on with it.  But, the reality is a hand thudding against the covers like a flapping fish outside of water.

James urges him backward, moving his torso toward the bottom of the bed with his legs unmoving until Q has his knees tucked up under his chest to offer his ass up and out for Bond. 

“Just stay relaxed for me,” James instructs with his lips moving over Q’s lower back and upper thighs while his broad hands palm and massage Q’s butt cheeks.  “I’m going to pull it out now.”

Q would have given another hand flop, but the shifting of his body mass has his hands rather pinned beneath him so he settles for sighing dramatically to go with all the build-up that Bond is so fond of. 

James’s hands stay on his ass, stroking in a very relaxing way as they also begin to spread and hold him open.  Then Q begins to feel tugging on the base of the plug; a strong, steady pull to drag the thickest part of the toy past the clinging resistance of his rectum so that the tapering end would easily follow. 

James’s hands are still on Q’s ass, his thumbs digging into the crack to keep the space widened for the withdrawal of the plug. 

Leaving, Q suddenly surmises, only Bond’s mouth as the only thing that could be pulling the toy out.

The realization is devastating, causing thought to flee Q’s mind as his body shivers uncontrollably as his cock somehow manages to stir with renewing interest.  His muscles twitch, jumping at the mental picture that he now has and the pulling stops. 

The right hand leaves his ass a moment before James leans over him to murmur more soothing nonsense in Q’s ear.  The small portion of the plug that has been worked free remains outside his body rather than getting sucked back in, telling him that Bond’s hand was holding on to it to prevent that recoil. He can’t seem to stop the shudders as he rocks against the pull at is anus; turns his head to blindly seek Bond’s shushing lips.

“Such a perfect whore,” James whispers fondly as he puts his mouth to Q’s slack lips. 

He shouldn’t delight so in James speaking to him in such terms, but the man always chooses moments like this to use that language.  His voice is always overheated and aroused or, like now, gentle and fond so that Q does not hate himself for loving the way the other man calls him a slut, whore, good boy or dirty bird with several variations on that theme.

Q may hate himself for the way that he strives to get Bond to use those ‘endearments’ outside the bedroom, but he’s stopped hating anything that happens in bed since it became apparent that he was more than another one-off notch in Bond’s bedpost. 

And he really doesn’t hate seeking the occasional ‘good boy’ at the office when James finds a modification of Q’s especially useful or interesting.  Since the man just smiles when he does so, Q has gotten into the habit of tossing out a few ‘good boy’s himself when James returns at least one of the more expensive gadgets that he’d been leant. 

No one at the office has questioned these byplays, as the apparent result is 007 returning from more missions without having lost or ruined all their technology.  However, then, as Q suspects, the whole lot had undoubtedly figured it out by the time the lovers began such exchanges so it likely just added to the gossip mill that the interns amused themselves with.

Q honestly does not know how this became his life.

Bond’s tongue licks into his mouth as his fingers pull the cord to suddenly work the plug free and Q gasps with the knowledge of exactly why he puts up with all that this man does.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: As always, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories, thoughts or circumstances embellished on a little more than the original format had done. Not for any profit.


End file.
